Page 6

As she leaves the room, her final words echo in my mind. Complete devotion.

I glance at Luca, whose eyes meet mine with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.

In this moment, the weight of what I’ve agreed to truly hits me.

I’m not just marrying a man.

I’m marrying a legacy.

And it’s one that will consume me whole if I let it.

The fields stretch wide and endless, a sea of white roses and delicate wildflowers. The afternoon sun bathes everything. It’s all too perfect, like the kind of dream you don’t want to wake from. Except this isn’t a dream.

It’s an afternoon wedding, but the sun has already begun to bleed.

The rows of white chairs are filled with people I don’t know. Salvatore associates, I assume, their polite smiles and designer outfits doing little to mask the dangerous aura they all carry.

My mother and Sofia sit in the front row, the only familiar anchors in this sea of strangers.

Mom wears a pale blue dress that makes her look years younger, her face calm but her eyes swimming with emotion.

Sofia, next to her, offers a hesitant smile when our eyes meet.

I return it, grateful for their presence.

Luca made sure they would be here.

It’s a small mercy, but one that cuts through the dread tightening my chest. For all his ruthlessness, for all his control, he made certain the people I care about most are here for me.

And then, Luca comes into view. He looks like a God made mortal.

A black suit tailored to perfection hugs his broad shoulders, the crisp white shirt beneath a sharp contrast against his olive-toned skin.

His dark hair is swept back, and the green of his eyes is piercing, locking on me the second I appear at the edge of the aisle.

My heart stutters.

He’s magnetic, commanding the space without a single word, without even moving. The guests may be seated, but every single person here is paying attention to him, their reverence palpable.

He isn’t just a man. He’s a storm.

My heels crunch softly against the gravel path as I begin my walk toward him, my bouquet trembling slightly in my hands. The gown I chose is simple—ivory satin, fitted but not overly elaborate. The veil is pinned lightly to my hair, barely noticeable compared to the heaviness in my chest.

Every step feels like it takes forever, yet not long enough.

The closer I get, the more his presence consumes me, pulling me in like gravity. By the time I reach the altar, I can hardly breathe.

Luca’s hand extends toward me, palm up.

I place mine in his, the warmth of his skin sending an unexpected shiver up my arm. His fingers close around mine, firm in their ownership. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, so low only I can hear.

I swallow hard, unable to respond. I can’t stop a faint blush from creeping up my neck, and much as I want to abhor this man… I… I don’t know what to feel for him, or if I can even name how he makes me feel. Like crushed petals, or melting chocolate.

The officiant begins to speak. This is it. The point of no return.

The vows come next.

Luca goes first. His voice is a rich baritone and completely composed, each word delivered with perfect calm.

He promises to protect me, to provide for me, to make me his in every way.

The words are traditional, but the way he says them is anything but.

There’s a fire beneath the surface, something dark and consuming that makes my skin prickle.

Then it’s my turn.

My voice is soft, the words carefully chosen. They feel hollow in my mouth, as though they belong to someone else, but I speak them anyway.

When I finish, Luca’s gaze locks onto mine, the hard brightness in them enough to awaken a low hunger in my belly that has nothing to do with food.

Focus, V. He killed your father . I tell myself this once, twice, but the words seem muffled, as if they want to fade to black.

The officiant announces us husband and wife, and before I can even register the words, Luca leans down, closing the distance between us.

He lifts the veil slowly and gently, like he’s savoring the moment. Then his lips brush against mine before he goes in for the kill.

My breath catches, the intensity of it leaving no room for doubt. He isn’t just kissing me; he’s branding me.

When he pulls back, his lips curve into a faint, knowing smile. “My wife,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl that only I can hear.

My stomach twists, and against every sane thought, a delicious shiver runs down my spine, curling and floating into my very heart.

The applause from the guests snaps me out of the moment, and I step back slightly, the heat of his presence still clinging to me.

Luca’s hand finds the small of my back as we turn to face the crowd. As we walk back down the aisle together, I glance at my mother and Sofia. Mom dabs at her eyes with a tissue, and Sofia gives me another small, hesitant smile.

We stop at the edge of the field, where a golf-cart waits to take us to the reception. Before I can step inside, Luca leans close, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.

“Tonight,” he says, his voice dark and smooth, “I’m going to enjoy making you mine.”

My pulse quickens, my body betraying me with the heat that flows through my core. I turn to look at him, my lips parting to respond, but no words come out.

His eyes glint with satisfaction as he gestures for me to step inside. And just like that, the cage closes around me.